


Medieval Mishaps

by vix_spes



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2018-07-14 08:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7161509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This wasn't exactly what the team had envisaged when Riley had taken over planning for their next team bonding outing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Friday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pers/gifts), [slightlytookish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlytookish/gifts).



There had been huge amounts of speculation amongst the team, or at least most of them, when it was announced that Riley would be taking over organisation for the next team outing. Mansell, true to form, was even running a book, determined to make some money if at all possible. Personally, Chandler thought that it was all a waste of time. His team worked perfectly well together thank you very much and surely an entire weekend was overkill. He had even gone to the Commander to try and protest but anything that he had said had fallen on deaf ears. Instead, Chandler had been informed that, seeing as they no longer took part in officially sanctioned exercises (they had given up attending after losing to traffic for the fifth time) and pub trips didn’t count – no, the Commander didn’t care if they were doing quizzes – they would do this or all receive a written warning in their files. With no other choice, Chandler simply had to back down and resign himself to whatever lay in store.  
  
He did think that an entire weekend of team bonding was rather overkill though. Chandler might have grown increasingly fond of his team in the time that they had been working together but that didn’t mean that he wanted to spend an entire weekend with them. He could maybe cope with Miles or even Kent – after all the lad could still barely string whole sentences together if they weren’t connected to a case – but an extended period of time with both Buchan and Mansell was going to test his endurance beyond belief.  
  
What was making Chandler even more nervous about this whole thing was the fact that Riley refused to give any of the team a single scrap of information about what the weekend was going to entail, about what they were going to be doing. He had done his best to hide it from his team, even if they knew that it existed, but had the feeling that Miles had had a quiet word with Riley when she provided him with a detailed list of everything that he would need for the upcoming weekend. Chandler knew that he had been correct when he saw Miles give a discreet but approving squeeze to Riley’s shoulder and he couldn’t help but feel a bit touched by his Sergeant’s care of him. Of course, having the list didn’t completely assuage Chandler’s stress but it did alleviate it fractionally.  
  
However, nothing, not even Riley’s detailed list could have prepared any of her team for the moment that they found themselves deposited in a slightly muddy field somewhere between London and the South Coast. The train journey had done nothing to dissipate Chandler’s nerves; Riley had vetoed them driving down, assuming quite correctly that one or indeed all of them would try to make a break for it. Instead, she had booked them all train tickets and even gone so far as reserving seats in one of the first class carriages so they would be pretty much by themselves. Chandler had appreciated it but he had still spent the train journey trying to puzzle out what they could be doing from Riley’s list and ignoring the others as they all indulged themselves from the drinks trolley. Now, staring at the complete lack of anything around them, he was wishing that he’d imbibed something alcoholic himself.  
  
Nearest to them, all they could see were several caravans and car with large trailers attached while in the distance, they could see a plethora of tents. They all started to look at each other in concern gripping their bags a bit nervously, all of them wondering what was in store for them. When they had been standing there for a while with no sign of Riley, they started getting a bit antsy with Mansell pulling out his mobile to phone her and discover what was going on.  
  
“I’ve got no signal!”  
  
“What?”  
  
It was amazing how quickly four simple words sent panic through all of them as the whole team dug in their pockets for their phones.  
  
“Where the bloody hell are we where there’s no signal?”  
  
Chandler moaned as he pulled his own phone out and saw the terrifying words ‘Emergency calls only’. “Please tell me that one of you has some signal? I’ve got nothing. Miles?”  
  
“Sorry Sir, I’ve got sod all.”  
  
“Damn it. Kent? Ed?”  
  
“I’m afraid that I too have no signal, Joe.”  
  
“Sorry Sir, me neither but Meg’s on her way now.” Kent pointed in the same direction as the majority of the tents where they could see the woman in question walking towards them.  
  
“You made it! Good, I was starting to get a bit worried that Duncan had forgotten all about you.”  
  
“What the hell, Meg? We’ve been waiting for you!”  
  
“Riley, not that it isn’t good to see you but where the hell are we and what are we doing here?”  
  
“Nice to see you too, Sir. You’re currently standing in a field on the outskirts of Herstmonceux Castle for England’s Medieval Festival. As for why you’re here, my re-enactment group is short of a few members this weekend and you’re going to be taking their places.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You’ve got to be joking!”  
  
“No bloody way.”  
  
“I don’t think…”  
  
“How fascinating. What will…”  
  
“Shut up, Ed!” All of the voices ran out in tandem and Chandler turned to Riley.  
  
“Riley, while it’s certainly an interesting concept for team bonding I’m not convinced. Maybe it would be best if we headed back towards London?”  
  
“Good luck sir. Duncan’s back in the pub already and not capable of driving and, as I’m sure you’ve found out, there’s no signal to get a taxi and good luck walking back to Polegate station. Now, if you’ll follow me, we’ll get you some dinner and I’ll show you were you’ll be sleeping.”  
  
As Riley turned on her heel to walk back the way she had come, the rest of the team lingered as Chandler and Miles seemed to have a silent conversation with their eyes before Chandler finally threw up his hands with a sound of exasperation.  
  
“Right, come on then. We’re here now; we’re just going to have to make the best of it. I’m certainly not giving the Commander a chance to write us all up. Besides, whatever Riley has dreamt up, how bad can it be?”  
  
“You shouldn’t have said that boss, some of the shit we’ve seen since we got you.”  
  
“I’m trying to be optimistic, Miles.”  
  
“Since when? Don’t, it makes me nervous. Come on you lot, you heard what he said, let’s get this over with.”


	2. Saturday

It was five rather tired and grumpy men who stumbled to the fire for breakfast on the Saturday morning. Sleep had been somewhat hard to come by for all of them. Chandler had thought that he’d had it bad being forced to share a very small caravan with Miles – how Judy put up with the snoring, he had no idea because it sounded like a chainsaw – but that was before he heard that Mansell, Kent and Buchan had had to share a tent. The mere thought of it made him shudder; having to sleep on the ground, not knowing what had been there or who had used the sleeping bag previously and the possibility of bugs crawling all over you? No, not his thing at all. Besides, it all reminded him of waking up in Epping Forest in the middle of the Kray case. Then, of course, there was the whole having to put up with sharing with the other three and, given how pale and tired Kent looked, Chandler would take Miles and his snoring any day.

“Morning, sir.”

“Sarge, boys.” They all looked up to see a rather cheerful Riley moving towards them carrying several mugs of tea, a young girl who was obviously her daughter following close behind with a few more mugs.

“I thought you’d all be ready for a cuppa. This is my daughter, Emma. Emma, this is my boss and the men that I work with.”

In contrast to her ebullient mother, Emma Riley just about managed to bob her head and hand over the mugs of tea before she scurried off to one of the nearby clusters of people.

“She’s not great with new people but she’ll warm up to you soon enough. Now, breakfast will be ready soon and then we’ll get you ready for the day.”

“After the night I had, it’d better be a bloody good breakfast. Buchan snores like a pig and you’d think that Kent was an octopus the way that he was clinging to me. Maybe he got confused and thought I was his teddy bear.”

“Hey! I don’t have a teddy bear!” Kent’s protestations weren’t helped by his voice cracking which caused gales of fresh laughter from Mansell and even Miles and Chandler couldn’t hold back a chuckle.

Erring on the side of diplomacy, Riley ignored Mansell’s jibe and focused on his first words. “Yes, it’s a good breakfast. It’s also the only modern food that you’ll be allowed until you’re back in camp this evening.”

“What?”

“You can’t be serious?”

“What do you mean by modern food?”

“I mean nothing from the takeaway vans that are around, no sandwiches, no drinks in cans or food in plastic wrappings. We’ll be making food in the encampment all day and you’re more than welcome to that, otherwise you come back here to eat although there’s not a lot. We’ll join up with the catering vans tonight and have a proper feast. Any questions?” Riley ignored Buchan’s raised hand, “Good. Come on then, breakfast should be ready in a few minutes.”

(~*~)

Panicked, Chandler and the others took Riley at her word and stuffed themselves full of breakfast. At some point, they saw Riley slip away and, when she returned, she was in costume with a rather wicked smile on her lips and a collection of bags in her hands. Rather warily, Chandler stood, followed by the others.

“Riley, what are you carrying?”

“Your costumes. Have you finished eating?”

“Costumes?”

“No, no way. I don’t do bleeding costumes.”

“Meg!”

“What kind of costumes?”

“Buchan!”

“Look, Riley. Meg. You can’t seriously be telling me that the Commander agreed that dressing up and playacting for the weekend was an acceptable team bonding experience.”

“I am indeed. I’ve even got a print out of the email because I knew you wouldn’t believe me. Now, are you going to keep arguing with me or are you just going to agree and get on with it, knowing that you’re going to have to do it anyway? The latter? Good, right choice.”

Having been foiled by Riley’s organisational skills and the fact that she clearly had an answer for every single protest that they were going to come up with, the team gave up with a weary sigh, watching in resignation as Riley placed the bags on the floor and started checking labels.

“Right, here we go. Kent, Mansell, Ed, here are yours. You shouldn’t have any problems with any of it. Sir, sarge, here’s your basic bits. When you’ve got them on, my husband John and David will come and help you get the rest of your gear on; you won’t manage otherwise.”

“If we won’t be able to dress ourselves, dare I ask what costumes we’ve been given?” Chandler really wasn’t sure that he wanted to know but he supposed that a bit of time to mentally prepare himself was better than nothing.

“You’re going to be a knight, sir. And sarge is a man-at-arms so unless you know how to put armour on, you’re going to need my husband’s help.”

“Hang on! Meg, why have I got a pair of bleeding tights in my bag?”

“Because you’re going to be dressed up as the Fool.”

“That’s not fair! Why do I have to be the Fool? I’m not wearing no bloody tights; I want to be a knight or a man-at-arms.”

“Well tough luck; you’re filling the spots of the people that have dropped out. I need a Fool and that fool is going to be you. You’re going to shut up and put those tights on, Finlay Mansell, or I will make your life a living hell. And you know that I can. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, Meg.”

“Yes, Meg. Good. Well? What are the rest of you waiting for? Go and get changed, we don’t have time for you to dawdle.”

It was a rather bashful team that met up about half an hour later, Chandler clinking in his armour as he moved rather gingerly. With the exception of Mansell, none of them had done too badly in the costume department; aside from Chandler and Miles, Kent was a squire, Buchan was a friar and Mansell was the aforementioned Fool. The five of them tried to avoid looking at each other as Riley stood, hands on hips, and gave them their assignments.

“Okay, you’re going to be split up over the event according to your roles, or most of you will be. Ed, you’re going to be with Mick on the stalls demonstrating calligraphy and talking about history; just try not to talk so much that you scare off the punters as we do actually want them to buy things. Mansell, you’ll be with the rest of the entertainers; Steve’s in charge of them. Try not to be your usual self. Kent, you’re Chandler’s squire; you’ll be following him all day.”

“Nothing unusual there then. Ow!” Mansell rubbed the back of his head where Riley had slapped him.

“Don’t be smart; it doesn’t suit you. Sir, if you stick with David today, he’ll teach you everything you need to know and make sure you’re okay. Sarge, you’ll be with my John; you shouldn’t have any problems. Any questions? No? Good. Off you go then.”

~*~

Eleven rather gruelling hours later (for some of them at least), the team stumbled into the area that had been set aside for the evening meal. As Riley had promised, the catering vans had provided a veritable feast that had been supplemented by various items that the women had been cooking up all day. Once again, the team was mostly fractured; Riley was still involved with organising things, Buchan had found a group of relatively like-minded historians and was talking at them, Mansell was trying to flirt with a group of rather busty young female re-enactors while, in comparison, Kent had been kidnapped by a group of teenage girls including Riley’s daughter, who were trying to flirt with him. Chandler resisted the urge to chuckle at the look of sheer terror on Kent’s face but Miles had no such compunction as he slumped down at Chandler’s side, passing him a beer as he did so.

“God, I need this. I’m too old for this lark; I don’t know how this lot do it every weekend or whatever.”

“I have to agree with you, Miles. This armour feels like it weighs a tonne; every bit of me aches. I tell you what, my back won’t forgive me after today and then another night in that caravan. I’m not even sure if I’ve got the energy to get up for food.”

“Trust me, as much as you ache, get up and have some food; I’ll give you some pills for the aches once you’ve eaten.” Chandler looked up to see David, the man who he had been shadowing for the day and who had taught him some of the basic fighting techniques he would need. “You need hot food in your belly and a good night’s sleep, lad. You thought today was bad? Tomorrow we have the battle itself…”


	3. Sunday

Thankfully, for Chandler at least, the second night’s sleep was better than the first. Then again, that could have been due to having had a couple of beers, some painkillers and more than a few slugs of the very good whisky that David had in his hip-flask. It certainly did the job of knocking him out enough that Miles’ snoring didn’t bother him. Judging by the looks of exhaustion on the faces of Kent, Buchan and Mansell, their second night’s sleep had been just as good – or not – as the first. However, whilst he had had a better night of sleep, every single part of Chandler ached.

He liked to think that he kept relatively fit. He ran several times a week and did semi-regular gym sessions where he was by no means a slouch. And then there were the weekends where he got conned into playing football with the Miles boys because, even though Chandler was unsure of himself, he was apparently a popular pseudo-uncle and a complete soft-touch. Apparently, all of that counted for nothing when you were running around a somewhat muddy field in a full-suit of armour. It was bad enough that Chandler was genuinely considering calling in sick the following day and spending the day on the sofa after an Epsom salts bath.

“If I’m not in tomorrow, Sir, then I’m dead. I don’t know how you’re running around in all that bloody armour; I feel ready to keel over as I am.”

Chandler reached up and took the proffered mug of tea gratefully. “You and me both. I have no idea how David does this so often; he makes you look young.”

“Oi!”

Chandler tried to backpedal furiously only to shove his DS when he chuckled. “I’m having you on, Joe. I know exactly what you mean. Have the others emerged yet?”

“They’re just emerging now. Or at least two of them are.” Miles called out as they got closer. “Where’s Mansell, the lazy bastard?”

Kent shrugged, looking warily around for any sight of the teenage girls that had mobbed him the previous day. “Dunno. He never came back to the tent last night.”

“Well, if he causes problems with the women here then he’s going to bloody regret it and that will be before I get my hands on him. Breakfast’s nearly ready. Eat up, you’ll need the energy. Then you need to get into costume; same rules as yesterday apply.”

~*~

As hard as Chandler and Miles had found the previous day, it was nothing compared to the Sunday. David really hadn’t been joking. They had spent the morning learning yet more fighting techniques and even participating in a few of the demonstrations. As they moved slowly back to the encampment for lunch and to prepare for the battle, Chandler was desperate for the peace and quiet of his flat, not to mention a bath and some painkillers. He honestly didn’t know how he was going to survive the afternoon.

The first part was easy. Miles and Chandler simply stood aside and watched as the squires marched onto the field carrying banners, Kent struggling valiantly beneath the weight of his, causing both of them to chuckle. And then it was their turn. There were easily several hundred people, if not more, lining the field behind rope barriers who alternately cheered and booed as the rest of the soldiers marched onto the field. More than a little bewildered, Chandler and Miles both felt a little lost as, with a few shouts and what sounded like a horn, the world around them descended into mayhem.

They had seen plenty of strange, horrible things in the streets of Whitechapel and, while this was nothing near as gruesome as the Ripper scenes they had seen, it was strange and terrifying all the same. They had seen the devotion that the re-enactors put into what they did and been impressed by it but, on a battlefield, surrounded by screams and shouts and the clash of steel? Well, it was an overwhelming thing to be in the midst of.

So, Chandler and Miles did the only thing that they could. They did their best to make it look as though they knew what they were doing when, in actuality, they had no clue. There were a few feeble attempts at wielding their weapons, but they felt completely and utterly out of their depth and uncomfortable. And so, without exchanging a word, they made a decision.

They stood back to back in the middle of the battle, frantically looking for a way out of this without alerting Meg and getting seriously hurt by one of the other re-enactors; the weapons may not be sharpened but they were nothing to sneer at. The battle had been going on for what felt like hours (although was probably about twenty minutes) and, with no end in sight and no watches, both Chandler and Miles were desperate for it to end.

“We’re going back to officially sanctioned team exercises after this, aren’t we?”

“Absolutely. I don’t care how much traffic gloats, we’re not doing this again.”

“Good man, Joe. Look, there’s a gap, let’s make a run for it.”

“And face the wrath of Riley?”

“We buy her a spa day and she’ll be happy. I’m willing to go halves if you are.”

“Deal. Let’s go.”

The two of them snuck out of the melee and headed back towards the safety of the camps. They had just made it to the tent line when they heard a throat clearing and turned to see a seriously unimpressed Riley stood behind them, hands on her hips.

“Seriously? I expected better from the two of you. What would Judy say about this, Sarge?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Chandler could see Miles looking shifty as he attempted to answer the question. Before he could think of anything and before Chandler could speak, Riley was talking again.

“Well, it hardly matters. The group has come to a decision and you’re not allowed to come back. They might consider taking you two but that’s it. Buchan has been exiled by the stallholders for scaring off the punters and trying to tell the guys doing calligraphy that they weren’t historically accurate. Kent got himself knocked out five minutes into the battle so he’s a health and safety liability that we can’t afford on our insurance and Mansell can’t keep it in his pants. He got caught ordering contraband from one of the food trucks in costume but, because he’s Finlay Mansell and he had to make things worse, the serving woman he was flirting with was the best friend of the woman he slept with last night.”

Riley brushed past the two men, calling over her shoulder. “Go and collect Kent from the medics, see what the verdict is and then head back to the encampment. We’re going back to competing against traffic.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you would prefer to comment on LJ, you can do so [here](http://vix-spes.livejournal.com/244478.html)


End file.
